Concerto in G
by AtomicArtifice
Summary: Humanstuck, teenagers. After admittance to a preparatory school for the musically talented, Karkat Vantas is ready to take his skills as a trumpet player to a professional level. The friends and rivals he encounters in training, however, challenge his talents and abilities to the point where he's not really sure if he's meant to be a musician after all. For all the band geeks
1. Chapter 1

"Your tone was a little shaky, and there's definitely room for improvement concerning the intonation of your scales. But overall we were very impressed with your performance, Mr. Vantas."

The panel of judges had finished sorting their scoring materials, and were sitting with all of their hands folded on the table. The adjudicator addressing me was a thin woman with short bobbed hair, a blue dress, and glasses that suggested the temperament of a librarian or secretary. I had trouble believing she was actually a brass player. My scales were perfectly fine.

"We'll need a few more minutes to assess our scoring sheets before we decide your placement. In the meantime, gladly take a seat in the hall with the other young musicians?" She waved me away with her long red fingernails. I clicked the securers closed on my trumpet case, gathering up my sheet music and hastily exited the audition room.

I've been playing the trumpet for eight years, but only recently have I been accepted to the second stage of auditions for this particular academy. I don't have a problem admitting that I'm better than your average trumpetist. I must have learned something from all those summers I slaved away at music camp, all those Saturdays I surrendered showing up for orchestra rehearsal, and all those afternoons wasted leading a bunch of inexperienced band geeks in sectionals. I was good, and I was proud of it. After three straight years of placement as the unwilling and painfully disorganized section leader, it was suggested to my family that I enrol in a preparatory academy for the musically talented. Sort of like Julliard for kids, if you catch my drift.

Only one problem: I'm not quite as gifted academically. Just because I can read music doesn't mean I can read Cyrano de Bergerac. The more time I put into my musical life, the less appealing my report card looks, and over the years it's been getting worse. C average, to D average to... Nevermind. I'd applied to the school last year, and the year before, but I'd never gotten past the first stage of auditions before. This year was my only chance. If I couldn't make it in with the skills I had to offer this year, I'd have to start worrying about actually graduating from high school. Ugh.

The door to the audition room clicked shut, and I was faced with a long, white corridor. The building was strangely quiet as I wandered around a corner and followed several arrows that had been hastily stapled to the walls, instructing me on where to go. I turned a final corner and was faced with a thicker portion of hallway, that was lined with fold-open chairs and instrument cases of various shapes and sizes lying around. The seats and surrounding wall space were occupied by one or two other musicians, who I could only assume were around my age, their faces pinned shyly to the ground. I set my trumpet case down on the ground and tugged annoyedly at the collar of the stiff dress shirt I was required to wear to my audition. My red hair clashed rather dramatically with white, so I always felt pretty ugly and awkwardly conspicuous in my dress clothes. Not to mention the buttons. They were always popping off, the goddamn things.

I took a seat near (but not too close to) a girl with very long, straight hair that somewhat resembled the color of my own. She gripped a flute case tightly in her lap, and looked the other way when I sat down. A pair of bright pink glasses matched her freckles, but looked a few decades too retro to be taken seriously. I coughed, and she took a shameless glance at me, blinking rapidly. Why do girls blink so damn much? It was a mystery I had been trying to decipher my entire teenage life. I heard the far-off click of an audition door shutting, and the strawberry-blonde twitched nervously. I sat farther back in my chair, trying as hard as I could to go unnoticed.

A tall girl trotted carelessly around the corner, a violin swung around her shoulder and an arrogant grin on her face. The top few buttons of her dress shirt (which was, I daresay, much more attractive than mine) had fallen unbuttoned, and her sleeves were rolled fashionably up to her elbows. Her long brown hair floated in waves down to her waist, and her glasses were ominously shaded on only one side. I wondered why. She must have noticed me staring, and threw me a wink with her one visible eye before collapsing with a dramatic sigh next to a rather nervous-looking boy clutching a viola case.

The boy, whom I had barely noticed before, raised his head and trembled anxiously, hugging his instrument close to him. He was tall (taller than me at least, as most people were), but looked small and insignificant next to the young woman with the violin. He had big brown eyes that seemed to be frozen in a permanently shocked position, and short chestnut hair that had been shaved on either side of his head, in the shadow of a mohawk. He swallowed nervously and looked away again as the girl "accidently" bumped his knee with her violin case. I tried to blend into my chair, but I couldn't help observing.

"So, Tav," she smiled so wide it was somewhat frightening, "How'd ya do? Think you're moving up to be my principal buddy this year?" The pitch of her voice shot around dramatically, and she crossed her legs, bumping him again with her instrument, on purpose this time as far as I could tell.

"U-uh," He tried to scoot as far away from her as possible without seeming rude, but I could almost see him sweating. I crossed my arms indignantly. I hated rude people, although I was often classified as one myself.

"I don't really think I'm, uh, good enough for principal viola," he stammered, shrugging humbly. "But, um, thanks anyway, I guess..." He swallowed again, the girl scooting closer to him. She seemed to enjoy making him uncomfortable. I noticed the flute-girl beside me tensing up as well.

"Well," the violinist finally leaned back, smacking the poor violist in the face with a flip of her long brown hair, "I'm out of here." She bounced excitedly out of her seat, throwing her instrument haphazardly over her shoulder.

"Hope you chumps make the cut. See ya', wouldn't wanna be ya'!" She galloped gracefully around the corner, and I could hear her whistling for a while until her footsteps were swallowed by the echo of the corridor. The flute-girl relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. The violist boy was stuck wide-eyed and slightly traumatized, but he leaned back in his chair and tried to calm himself down a bit. As a general rule, most violinists were pleasant and often very devoted people. Apparently not this one.

I tossed my bangs out of my face. "Who does that girl think she is, anyway?" I muttered aloud, not really expecting a response from either of of my fellow musicians. The boy let go of his breath, and his nervous eyes finally re-dilated. He hugged his instrument and turned to face me, in disbelief.

"Y-you mean you don't know who that was?!" he whispered harshly.

"No," I admitted.

He looked around, as if afraid to speak aloud. "That's Vriska Serket. She's been the concertmaster and president of the junior youth orchestra for three years!"

The flute-girl next to me nodded in agreement, her long hair waving back and forth. "She's a prodigy!" she added, unable to restrain herself from conversation any longer. "No violinist has been brave enough to cross her for years." The boy nodded earnestly.

"I went to school with her," he shrugged shyly, "I guess that's why everyone assumes I'm some sort of genius."

A few more kids piled in from the hallway, chattering and throwing their instrument cases lazily on the ground. A tall, lanky boy with thick, ebony curls tossed his trombone case next to my trumpet and nodded at me wearily. I was glad to see another brass player- I hadn't seen any others besides myself so far today. A cellist with a short, black bob and a surprisingly stylish skirt lugged her instrument into the hall and collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. She pulled out a tube of lip-gloss and reapplied some to her chapped lips. A very small girl, who also appeared on the younger side, bounced joyously into a chair, tossing her clarinet case on the ground beside her. A rather tired looking bassist followed her, beads of sweat falling down his forehead past his suspiciously dark shaded glasses. The clarinetist squealed excitedly at him, and he found a seat next to her. A nerdy-looking blonde kid with a bassoon and a ridiculous overbite shot me a nasty look as he wandered in, sitting as far away from me as he possibly could. I blushed with annoyance, which I was definitely prone to, being as pale as I was. Several more non-descript violinists made their way to the waiting area, as did a grumpy french hornist girl with a cane that I suspected of some kind of sight impediment.

It was starting to get crowded, but no one seemed to want to get closer than me than they had to (big crowds in tight spaces made me antsy), so there was an awkwardly empty seat right in between the flutist and I. That is, until a particularly showy jerk with thick black glasses and strange black-and-purple hair was excitedly waved over by the flute player and bravely took a seat next to me. The flute player hugged him, much less tense now, and he had to lay his oboe down on the floor before fully returning her embrace. I rolled my eyes and looked the other way until their affectionate greeting had been reduced to hand-holding. I hated couples.

There was a little bit of chatter, now that the area was full, but it was mostly just a collection of social awkward teenagers looking around nervously and silently refusing to acknowledge each other's existence. Everything quieted down immediately as the secretary adjudicator woman walked daintily around the corner, her high-heels clicking in a very professional manner. She held a clipboard in her hand, and I straightened my back and tucked my messy red hair behind one ear at the sight of it. The other kids were silent, each and every pair of eyes directed at the adjudicator. She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrow, adjusting her glasses and glancing down at her clipboard. She glanced skeptically up at us.

"It's good to see so many new faces in today's crowd," I felt her eyes drift over to me, "Along with some old ones. As you all know, this concludes our final stage of auditions. If your name is called, you have been graciously accepted and we expect you back here on September 2nd, 6:00 AM on the dot for room assignment and your brief orientation. If your name is not called, you are dismissed and encouraged to try again next year." She feigned a sad smile, but her face soon returned to it's usual neutral.

"I will call you by section," she pointed to the first line on her clipboard, for her own benefit. "Strings first." She cleared her throat again, rather dramatically.

"Vriska Serket," she raised her eyes. Wasn't she that violinist I had encountered earlier, who'd left already? The adjudicator didn't seem surprised as several people mumbled that she wasn't here. "Well," she continued, "Someone please confirm miss Serket's assumption that she has once again managed to claim the concertmaster seat for her division." Several of the violinists muttered annoyedly.

"Aradia Megido," she called, glancing up to scan the crowd of violins. I nervously looking girl in the back of the crowd shouldered her way to the front, her bushy charcoal hair brushing her fellow violinists and she went. She raised her hand timidly, but bravely. The adjudicator nodded. "It's nice to have you with us this year. We love new additions," she attempted to smile, "That is all for the violins." The rest of the violinists looked at each other in disbelief and began to wander away, dreams crushed. The adjudicator shrugged, numb to their pain.

"Tavros Nitram," she nodded kindly at the violist boy with the big brown eyes. He shifted excitedly and tried to smile himself. "It's nice to have you with us again this year, as our new _principal viola_." He smiled even wider.

"Kanaya Maryam," she looked up from her clipboard and the cellist with the black bobbed hair, who was raising her hand politely. "Welcome, dear." Kanaya nodded graciously, adjusting the green bow fixed in her hair.

"Equius Zahhak," she concluded matter-of-factly, and the bassist boy smiled while the small clarinetist girl grinned and tugged excitedly on his long black hair. To my surprise, he didn't seem annoyed, but welcomed her childish high-five. It made me wish I had bothered to make a friend in all of this business.

"Moving on to the woodwinds," she cued the rest of the rejected string players to gather up their items and be on their way. The flutist giggled excitedly and the oboe boy shushed her.

"Feferi Peixes," she announced and the flutist girl gasped and raised her hand as straight in the air as she could get it. The adjudicator looked slightly confused at the extent of her enthusiasm, but nodded politely at her and muttered some kind of welcome.

"Eridan Ampora," she recited, and the boy next to me with the oboe nodded politely in acceptance. "It's nice to have you back this year," The adjudicator smiled fondly at him. "Principal oboe, as expected." He didn't look awfully surprised that his name had been called. It looked like a lot of the crowd was the same as last year.

"Nepeta Leijon," she fumbled the last name a bit, but the little clarinetist with mousy brown hair and bright green eyes seemed too happy to mind. She giggled sweetly, and raised her hand, trying to maintain her composure. Her bassist friend shot her a congratulatory smile.

"Sollux Captor," she announced, in the voice that I recognized as the conclusion of a section. The blonde boy with the bassoon and the overbite smirked arrogantly, and raised his hand as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He glanced challengingly at me, and I think I blushed.

"Last but not least, brass," she banished the rest of the woodwinds that had been rejected, which looked like quite a few, and cleared her throat one final time in preparation of the final section. I swallowed nervously. It was disconcerting how little players were being admitted into each section. Out of a whole crowd, only four woodwind players had achieved a performance satisfactory enough to be accepted. The crowd of hopeful brass players that had assembled around me numbed my spirits.

"Gamzee Makara," she sighed, looking disappointedly at the list in front of her. The tall trombonist boy with the curly ebony hair grinned. "It's... nice to have you back," the adjudicator choked out, suggesting it was the least appealing thing she'd heard all day that this boy had been admitted for a second year.

"Terezi Pyrope," she glanced up, as did many of the other kids, to a girl leaning wearily against a wall, a pair of bright red glasses fixed to her face and a seeing-eye cane in her hand. Her french horn case sat on the ground by her feet. It took her a moment to realize her name had been called, but she raised her hand casually, unaware of the many strange stares she was receiving from the other musicians. "Congratulations," the adjudicator mumbled.

She coughed and glanced down at her list one last time. I pressed my hands together anxiously. This was my last chance. If my name didn't get called, I might as well forget about musicianship as a serious career choice and refocus on not failing my sophomore year of high school. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, I was so nervous.

"Karkat Vantas," she concluded, and I felt myself raise my hand before it even registered in by brain that my name had been called. She nodded at me, and I let go of the breath I'd been holding. Tavros smiled at me from his seat across the hall, and I thought I saw the bassoon player, Sollux, glance at me as well. She spared me a welcome speech, merely flipping her clipboard under one arm and clapping her hands together matter-of-factly. I tried not to smile, although I was beyond relieved.

"Alright. I expect all of you back here in a week exactly, at 6 AM sharp. Any lateness will not be tolerated. We aim to prepare you for the professional world, and that is exactly what we'll do."

I swear she looked at me funny, like she suspected me to object. I might have been a troublemaker in public school, but this was different. This was serious.

"Until then, you are dismissed."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not well-adjusted, socially. I literally have no friends except for my trumpet. Pretty sad, right? I spend more time practicing than I do doing homework, relaxing, or even sleeping. I don't exactly have a life apart from music. Sure, I've been classified as a loser before, but I think I think my admission tipped the scale to the tier above band geek: which would be dangerously obsessed.

If there was one thing I was looking forward to about boarding school, it would be the lack of parents. It's not that I don't like my parents... They're not bad. It's just that I've always felt like I would be better off taking care of myself. I'd always hating their nagging me about a messy room, about dishes that needed to be done, about how it was too late at night for me to practice trumpet because the neighbors would come complaining. I was going to a music academy, for God's sake. I could practice all I wanted now.

It was ridiculously early in the morning, and a monday nonetheless. My mind had been wandering for the past hour and a half that I spent on a bus, thinking of nothing but what my new school life would be like and what I could expect of it. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't single myself out as a loner this year, and I was determined to make at least one friend as fast as I could. I was a little bit nervous about the fact that most of the kids in my division seemed to know each other already. I could name at least a few of the kids I'd met a week ago who I knew had attended school last year (or last semester at least), and in theory, it was harder to make friends when a social ladder had previously been established. If anything, I would have to be careful in my first week or so if I wanted to stay on the top half of the spectrum. No one knew me yet. I could pull off "cool kid" Karkat if I tried.

To make my move "swifter and more comfortable" (or so said the adjudicator, who it turns out was also head secretary in charge of schedule arrangements), all I would have to carry with me was a jacket, identification, and my instrument (if I so desired). It was pretty cold for so early in September, and I'd managed to dig up a dark grey zip-up sweatshirt from the bottom of my dresser that didn't scream 'geek!' at the top of it's lungs. Wearing dark colors generally wore down the conspicuousness of my carrot-top-and-freckles combo that I was so NOT fond of. I stuck my hand in my pocket, feeling the edges of my I.D. card, as the bus screeched to a halt. I squeezed the handle of my trumpet case anxiously.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bus window. My hair was at that awkward stage between short and long where it was shaggy and thick enough to be annoying, but short enough to stick up at an odd angle in the back. I'd been teased for it in school the previous years, and my stomach churned every time I looked in the mirror. The bus stopped completely, and I rose to my feet, along with the rest of it's riders. If you manage to catch sight of me in a crowd, the first thing you'll notice is my height. In middle school I managed to inch up to about 5'2" (still far under normal for your average guy). My parents assumed that my growth spurt hadn't hit yet, and I'd rocket up a few inches in high school. So far, I wasn't doing so well. Another inch or two had me up to almost 5'4", shorter than most of the girls. It was downright embarrassing.

The crowd of bus-goers carried me off the bus in a wave of bodies, and it was all I could do to keep hold of my instrument case. The academy was downright gigantic, and it took up as much space as your average college campus. I stumbled off the bus and right onto the steps of the main building, which in itself was almost larger than the entire campus of the high school I had attended the previous year. I trotted up a long string on concrete steps, approaching the wide, sinister doorway of the main building. From what I could see, the campus was scattered with trees in small patches, and I caught a glimpse of a wide grassy field just behind the main building. My feet carried me towards the doors, which were almost twice my height. I managed to heave one open, while keeping a tight hold on the handle of my trumpet case. The inside of the building was just as grand as the outside, with high, arched ceilings and walls of marble and stone. I would not have been surprised if the building had been a prestigious university at some time or other, transformed to an arts academy only in recent years.

I noticed a clump of kids that I recognized as the measly group of instrumentalists I had auditioned with only a week previous. I walked briskly towards my group, standing in a semicircle around the same secretary-type woman who had served as our adjudicator last week. It seemed she was permanently assigned to look after us as a group, which didn't seem like a particularly delightful notion, judging by the look on her face. I noticed Tavros standing near the edge of the circle, donning a light brown jack and a grey knit cap on his head. He held his viola case with one hand, and his big nervous eyes darted nervously from the secretary woman to Vriska, who was standing across from him and buttoning up her fluffy blue sweater, her violin lying uselessly on the ground. I wandered over to him, hoping he would recognize me.

"Hey Tav," I coughed, joining him in his relatively empty half of the circle.

He jumped at the sound of his name, but he looked at least a little bit happy as I approached him. "Oh, uh, hi Karkat!" He swung his viola gingerly back and forth around his knees, more relaxed than I had seen him... well, ever.

I pulled at the sleeve of my sweatshirt, my trumpet case hanging from the other hand. All of the same kids I'd met last weekend looked miles different in street clothes. In my opinion, dress clothes weren't flattering on anyone, and it was definitely easier to get a read on someone's personality when they were dressed normally. The flautist I had met briefly, Feferi, stood hand-in-hand with Eridan, the oboe player, her head pressed affectionately into his shoulder. She was wearing grey tights under a dangerously short skirt, a pale pink sweatshirt tied around her tiny waist, and her hair was wound into a long, thick braid. Eridan was taller than her by a few inches, and her head was resting comfortably on the shoulder of his faded burgundy jacket. His glasses would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but he managed to pull them off. He was staring off towards a window, a curl of his violet hair falling down the side of his face. He looked strangely satisfied by the girl hanging off his arm, and I suspected that there wasn't much that could be done for his ego. After all, principal oboe? It would be impossible not to have some sort of a superiority complex.

Various other kids were seated or standing awkwardly around the adjudicator, either chatting politely with each other or glancing around nervously, as if they still were required to prove themselves somehow. The secretary woman peered over the rim of her glasses, scanning the small crowd of us, and no doubt taking a quick roll-call inside her head. When she was sure we had all assembled, she tapped her pencil on her clipboard (which she was again carrying), and the few kids who had been muttering quieted down instantly.

"Children, children," she muttered, although we were already silent. I despised being referred to as a child. Surely sixteen qualified as adult? Not to this grumpy old woman, anyway. She tucked her clipboard under one arm and licked her lips in preparation for her welcoming.

"Hello and welcome," she began with a sigh, "I have your room assignments right here. You will be allowed approximately one day to adjust to your new surroundings and work out your schedules, but classes begin first thing tomorrow morning and I expect all of you ready to begin the year by then. I strongly encourage any new students to seek guidance from returning students if they have any pressing questions that I have not covered."

I looked down, as I was sure that several of the more experienced players shot me a derogatory glance. I hated being the 'new kid'.

"Once I read your room assignments, you make progress to the dormitory building. If you're unsure of it's location, I'm certain that one of your fellow students would be happy to lead you in the right direction. We're all friends here, correct?"

We all glanced suspiciously at each other. Friends. Right.

"Right then," she cleared her throat, as she seemed partial to doing. She placed her index finger at the top of the list, directing her eyes and her brain in the right direction. "Room 386 will be occupied by miss Leijon and miss Megido." Nepeta hopped playfully to her feet, trotting away from Equius's side to greet Aradia, who was standing stark still at the edge of the circle, with her face stranded in neutral.

"Room 387, miss Maryam and miss Peixes." The flautist blinked happily in the direction of the stern and somewhat still cellist girl, who was dressed so professionally, it looked like she was stuck in concert mode.

"388, miss Serket and miss Pyrope." Vriska looked rather confused as to her assignment, until she was pointed in the correct direction to greet Terezi, who was hiding surprisingly well the small crowd with her blindingly bright red sweatshirt. Terezi glanced in a completely wrong direction at the sound of her name. She was clinically blind, I was sure of it.

"411, mister Nitram, and mister Makara." Tavros swallowed nervously under the glance of the tall, ebony-haired boy who was smiling intimidatingly at him. I had been wishing subconsciously wishing I might land a roommate that I was at least vaguely acquainted with, but it seemed Tavros and Gamzee were going to have to puzzle things out of their own.

"Room 412, mister Zahhak and mister Ampora." Eridan turned his head in the direction of the bass player, glaring insensitively at him. Equius didn't look much happier, but he managed a polite nod of the head in the direction of his new roommate. Eridan rolled his eyes.

"Room 413, mister Captor and mister Vantas." I glanced disbelievingly at the smirking blonde boy that I would be forced to spend an entire year in the company of. I knew from the looks I'd been getting that he had a bone to pick with me, though I wasn't sure exactly what I'd done to make him so pissed off. I shot him a nondescript glance, hoping he would get my message. There'd be a confrontation. Like hell there would. I wanted to know more about this kid. Before I tossed him aside as the object of all my aggression, anyways. Who knows, I might even start to like him a little bit once I had a day to get to know the guy. Maybe I could manage to make a friend.

I tried, internally, to talk myself into the idea. It would unfold soon enough, one way or the other.


End file.
